The Green Box

I have just found my green box. Something strange in that green box hit my like a collection of bricks in a wheel-barrow. It's full of letters, real letters, sent by mail. Dusty, creased and dog-eared with the wrinkles of returned readings. I placed these treasured correspondences in the box while living away. Flooding my thoughts with musings...not about what it contained but regret that there will never be another green box. What did we lose when we gained the immediacy of email? What a great question though....When was your last letter? What was your last proper letter? Are you the one that wrote another friends last real letter? That would place you in a very special place in ones history me would think. Little would they know that would be the last practice of a ritual going back generations. I teach students who dont know what apostcard is let alone how to set out a letter or how to write "Weathers fine wish you were here". I cant wait to open up the green box and see who wrote mine.

A lesson in IRONY

This would be ironic or simply 'what do you expect' continuing with my open mouthed obsession with mediocrity I present the beast that is Corey worship.
10 points if you can pick all the mistakes.

God's Own Country

So I really enjoyed getting down to supposedly "God's Own Country" AKA Cronulla the other night for a party (Foreign Friends, Cronulla is a beach side suburb of Sydney, while, although near the city of Sydney also through accidents of geography finds itself a fairly insular area where the locals NEVER leave and also NEVER stop gabbing bout how wonderful the place is to live. But a warning, if you google the place you will also find some rather disturbing facts about the place that made news a while back)
A little off topic there...anyways, as I was saying, it was nice to get the opportunity to socialise with some old mates and have a proper party, the rain meant we were all inside, being close quarters meant that I had to socialise and well...um...admit to a great social death for the Sutherland Shire and reveal that I indeed had driven in from out of town!
Little did I know how much a conversation starter THAT would be. Energetic, wide eyed queries ensued; "What's it like taking a real motorway?" "What are the other Westfield mall's like?" "Does Sydney have other beaches...with waves?" etc etc

After three light beers I did have to break the seal, and truth is, I needed a breather from all the attention and soft whispering about the 'foreigner' and 'new blood' around the room.

Back to it, the natural teacher in me worked the room, revealing all types of interesting facts about the wide world, yes, people do marry into different suburbs, even have interests non relatable to a surfboard, wax and blonding hair products. we have shoes, long pants and I even had to admit I'd seen people without their postcode tattooed on their inner arm...in the midst of all this hubris I gazed down to my chest to identify a large, fat PUBE on my Tshirt!
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LEARING out at the circle of people around me, positively waving as if to say "Hey, I've just been to the loo and got caught on my owners hands as he did the zip up on the fly"

Oh my GOD, how long had that been there? Had anyone seen it?
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Then again, If I was chatting to a total stranger at a party, would I be POLITE
enough to ignore the 'sexual hair' on his shirt OR would I be POLITE enough to point it out in a non confronting manner as to save the poor foreigner from further embarrasment?

A friggin pubic hair!
Now that hasn't happened to me before...
I still shudder to think about it

Why Don't You Take off Those Glasses

I probably dont really deserve to increase traffic around here but I wonder what the term 'Corey Worthington' will do if I mention it here?

When you hothouse and incubate a generation of children through a diet of 5 second soundbites "Do you look hot" stylised images, lowest common denominator foreign reality TV, cheap instant 'dont have to wait' instant satisfaction, free and shallow gratification and the cult of fame I guess you are going to get a race of mindless clones.
More worryingly you are also going to get the host of peers who possess absolutely no ability to think critically and thus will worship at the alter of such a silly kid. Children like Corey have no ability to be exceptional, they have not been forwarded those skills, told they need to work longer than half an hour on one activity to develop difference- thus the driving need to find a mindless fame that, at the very least, gives a senblance of that they are special- its the only kind of 'exceptional model' they have been exposed to- the TV Star, the model. This child's biggest problem was his inability to look into the future, see the consequences of his lack of contrition, I found it an interesting study. I can't blame him, when had he needed to develop that skill- if his mobile needed updating, it was propably the new model wrapped and ready as a present, broadband upgraded, clothes bought. No one actually fails in school, they are "progressing!" No one is held back a year, that might "inhibit their self esteem!"We live in that world- why the horror over this blokes actions? It's been staring us in the face for at least the last 5 years!
I Apologise on two issues; One, That you are reading from across the shores and have no idea what I'm talking about (I'll try to embed the vid) and, Two, that I have not been around, you see...I've been organising a sick party that me parents don't know about!!!!

Splutter

You know that type of automobile? The second hand one that you bought for a scream at the time, assured that it was running well, previous owner a nun who only used it to deliver meals on wheels. It does indeed run well.

But as always about two years in you hop in one cold morning and the engine kicks but just doesnt quite kick over. "Must be a bit cold", you say and try again. Still turning , yearning a bit, nearly there, you can feel the engine waking up....then...nothing.
You dont want to flood the little tacker, so you wait 5 minutes. On your next attempt the thing responds in much the same way as previously, you lose your temper, "Stupid friggin hunk of junk!" as you get out of the car, resigned to the fact you wont be getting where you want to go today

To this end, I think this blog feels, or has felt a little like that. Its the best way I can explain it. One day i woke up and had nothing to say. There were a few times I remembered I had one original thought, even had something to say, but to get home, find a spare minute to construct words has simply been to much...too many false starts, almost back to normal but not quite. It was just easier to shut that routine out for a while. Get sane

So thats me prostrated...or is that prostated!! ;)

Vroooooooooooooooom

Evan is slapped across the face,
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where am I
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What year is it?
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Whats my name??

Hello cheeky Monkeys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

me here

Hey there!

Sorry, no real explanation for being naughty. have just enough time while the snags are grilling to log this in. Been to Buddist temple today for some contemplation, helped brother move (six times in two years!) Marked essays, helped some friends with a few emerging issues.

And...still trying to get that important time to check out people's blogs.

Consider me poked, I'm that Kitchen thing with the God damn holes by now!

Deep Breath!

Pause

Got nothing really tonight but felt I'd check in.
Sitting here watching Brat camp- a world of fun. Ever wanted to throttle a kids throat when they are being a brat- here is a way of living your dream.
School carnival yesterday- thew rides were fun but went white as a sheet after my third cake and ride combo and had to take it easy for a spell.
All's good, be back with something soon if the regular life I've been enjoying crumbles.

Wednesday 4:30pm

Long day at work. I hop out of the car with my gear and unlock the front door to the stairwell of the flats. The stench of alcohol hits me immediately.
"At half four!" I think surprised and worried, in for a big night,or someone's big night started early.
Up at the top of the building, inside, I open my window in the kitchen, the familiar stench hits me again- cheap booze- must be bloody strong to be wafting up from outside. to confirm my worries yelling ensues from the floor below. 14 year old truant is having a party, mum's away, lets have a few friends or a thousand over for a mid afternoon party. Cussing and swearing, yelling across at people walking by on the street, there's vomit in the driveway and I hear a smash or two of glass, someone has apparently hidden the bong, Trevor, whoever that may be needs to sober up cause Brenda won't be impressed and 'go with him.' Trevor says little, he just wants to be left alone to 'relaaaaaax'
Kid goes down in the driveway, choking, calls for the asthma puffer, that maneuver to 'unchoke' someone is tried. I stop for a minute to see if I should go down and demonstrate the correct procedure, but think twice, ambo's called, a ciggie is handed round, a joke a laugh, the kid seems ok, passed out- or just out of it.
Doors slamming, neighbours on that level heard saying 'calm down' Trevor or Brett or DJ Snazzy screaming back about C*&% face and threatening to get a knife.
Maybe not threatening cause a door down stairs is being slammed upon. I can here a telephone call- not the one side, but BOTH (and not a hands free)
The next morning I walk down to go to work, Graffiti on two neighbour's doors, "Your dead" on one and "F*&K You" on another.

Great I think, photographic evidence.

Havn't seen them for four days. Apparently Police were called- and the whole thing, I find out today, has something to do with my washing machine

Foreign Whitegoods Must Assimilate

I don't know. Look... if a stranger who has just moved in downstairs asks to borrow your washing machine, do you let them?

I did, but I think somewhere at sometime, buried deep in my male manual for domestic tasks something flashed WARNING WARNING.

Not sure, the woman and her son are a bit smelly in the continually pickled 'slur the words anymore you'd be yodelling' sort of fashion. Also, will it continue? If it cleans the clothes then I guess my next load can't be contaminated in anyway can it.

Hmmmm, if that's the case then why do we clean a bath, shower recess, or sink? I'm not sure.

On a similar vein, if you fiddle with your Miele (washing machine that is) you can make it flash 'FINISHED FINISHED FINISHED' in Danish instead of English don't you know?

This is exciting, at least to my pea brain. I may try it on my model for the next time this scraggy woman uses my machine.

The Danish word for Finish is SLUT!

Only a Few More Straws

I came home today to find my balcony door ajar, bedroom curtains open.

So now the agent has taken to 'dropping by' while I'm at work WITHOUT LETTING ME KNOW.

I guess a call makes no difference. I'm at work after all. I'm getting into the habit of keeping clean. But is it being bold of me to politely suggest that they lock up my place after invading my privacy?

(note, I'll visit soon)

Sense Of Place

I've been ruminating on this idea for a while.

Actually, I've been obsessed with this idea for four years too long.

What does belonging mean for me? To me?

I'm Australian. I hate that.

.

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and embrace it.

The above comes from a strange song that popped up on my ipod just then. 'My Island Home'

While I lived in England I'd hear it and stream tears, longing for my Australia, I'd lived in just about every State growing up and the words just floored me. Thinking about being raised on this huge Island with such a small insular community. It was so safe, secure and yet foreboding and unexplored. Full of patriotic and idealistic people, self obsessed and naive. I think I fooled myself into thinking this was far below me. I'd committed the horrible sin of travelling and suddenly thinking I was better than my friends who'd never strayed from my home shores. Shudder the thought.

Funny then, no matter how highly cultural and worldly travelled I'd believe myself to be, a few songs expressing the smell, feel, light, danger, toil and hardship, characteristics of the land of my birth would send me to the nearest off-licence to get pissed and homesick. I fought it but there just has to be something about the home of your birth that is like a rubber band. no matter how much you pull away, you spring back.

I used to say this was unique to Australians. We are born upon a proud land that can kill by its very extremes. It's a harsh land that demands respect, conservation, forethought, preparation and love and some kind of strange loyalty. Without this, a simple venture into the outback can kill. I guess I ask this question: does this breed a particular type of respect of it's Australian people or is it common to anyone, from any nation? I certainly feel a great love for that physical land I live on here, it's beautiful and frightening. I kind of feel privileged to be able to see it's sights simply because it reminds me constantly, from season to season just how lucky I am to exist on it's soil. Fire, drought, flood, rain, storm.

hmmm, love, hate relationship

That's my ode to Oz.